


LotR slash drabbles

by sophinisba



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Double Drabble, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Early Work, M/M, ringlust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-05-24
Updated: 2009-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mostly Frodo slash, including interspecies</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watching, Waiting

Frodo lay on the hard stone floor, searching for sleep.

The Bree jail was a dark, cold cellar dug under the town hall, and Frodo was awake and alone. He'd given up clutching at the bars of his cell, pleading with the tired, ill-tempered guard for an explanation. No one here wanted to help the miserable hobbit.

Still, he clung to a faint hope. At the inn, Strider had seen Frodo being dragged away. From what little Frodo knew of the man, he believed Strider would defend justice, would come to rescue him. He strained to hear the Ranger's footsteps.

* * *

"Strider!" Frodo said aloud, waking with a start in the dark of Moria.

"Mr. Frodo?" At his side, Sam immediately grasped Frodo's hands. "Are you all right?"

"I was just..." hoping, wishing.

"Having a nightmare?" Not exactly. "Strider -- Aragorn's just over there, sir, keeping watch."

Frodo looked in the direction Sam indicated. After a moment he could discern that Aragorn was in fact silently watching Frodo.

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo whispered, settling back down and trying to ignore the warmth on his cheeks and the pounding in his chest.

He lay on the hard stone floor, searching for sleep.


	2. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo/Aragorn

After, they lie on their sides, and Frodo feels the warmth of Aragorn's chest pressing against his back. Frodo can still feel the whip wheals, that slight sting at first, but there is no longer shame or even real pain, only comfort in the touch. Aragorn folds his arms over Frodo's own, holding him close. Before, in the months they walked side by side, Frodo used to feel foolish, absurdly small in the company of Men and Elves. But since they became lovers, Frodo knows that he fits, that this is where he wants to be, and where he belongs.

Aragorn whispers in his ear and Frodo, whose Elvish never progressed much beyond greetings and pleasantries, smiles as the meaning reaches him clearly nonetheless. Love, devotion, protection. After a little while the king abandons language and finds a better use for his tongue. One hand smoothes down to Frodo's hip and the other up to the scar on his left shoulder. Any contact there always produces a chill, but the gentle kneading of Aragorn's fingers brings Frodo warmth; the firm embrace steadies him as the shiver passes. "And all of it will pass," Frodo murmurs, "only never let me go."


	3. On the Stairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo/Aragorn

"I would speak with you in private, Mr. _Underhill_."

Frodo's stepping backwards, retreating up the stairs, though he knows he won't outrun this fierce man with his long legs and his long arms, ah, reaching out to grip him by the collar. Shoving him, tossing him back.

Frodo gasps.

A shuffle of footsteps on the next floor up. The guards won't interfere though, Frodo is quite sure. They've played this game enough times by now.

The Guards of the Citadel have leaned that sometimes the Ring-bearer will cry out -- on the stairs and in the corridors as well as in the royal bedroom. They recognize that these are not cries of distress. Frodo doesn't expect, or want, to be rescued from the stern, powerful man who's pursuing him up the steps. Frodo is agile, and if he seems to trip, to fall back on the steps, it is only a practiced illusion. He is actually in complete control. He gazes up at the man now looming over him, makes his eyes enormous, makes his lower lip stick out and tremble, and whispers, "What will you do to me, sir?"

"Nothing more than you deserve," growls the Ranger-King.

Frodo surrenders.


	4. untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo/Pippin

  
Pippin is quieter than Frodo had expected. In any other situation he can't keep his mouth shut. Well, it's hanging open now, but he isn't making any real noise. Just breathing, gasping a bit. No words, certainly no screams. It's _almost_ disappointing. Frodo's used to getting more of a reaction.  
  
And Frodo, who's often accused (by Merry, mostly) of being loud in this particular situation (the one Pippin's in now), has all he can do to keep his mouth open wide, to keep breathing. He tries not to moan, likes to think he can maintain more control than Peregrin Took.  
  
Pippin's fingers twist through Frodo's curls but don't tighten, don't pull, and his touch is cool and light like Merry's has never, ever been. And Frodo wonders just why he and Pippin have never done this before. Pippin's cock in Frodo's mouth is a good deal more... pressing, insistent. Hot.  
  
When Pippin finally cries out and lets go (and pulls tight) and comes hard, that's hotter still, which is not to say that Frodo minds. He swallows, sucks, licks, and when he's got his mouth free again, murmurs, "Nothing at all like him." And Merry, watching from the bed, agrees.


	5. Outside the Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo/Legolas

It's the way they look at each other. The hobbits hold hands while they walk, and they lie curled against each other at camp. They exclaim out loud at how much they love their meals. They sing for their own enjoyment and not for the sake of who might hear them and judge their skill.  
  
But it's the way Frodo looks at Sam when he says _thank you_ that makes Legolas want to reach for him, to be as attentive to him as Sam, as free with him as Merry and Pippin.  
  
It has nothing to do with the Ring.  



	6. Night Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo/Legolas

"You should be resting, Ring-bearer. You carry a heavier burden than the rest of us and have a longer journey ahead of you."

"So you've said before, but your warnings don't help me fall asleep."

"Would you have me drug you?"

Frodo grimaced. "Would you have me lie awake thinking of the long journey ahead without you? While you sit here a few feet away and…"

"Watch you."

Frodo reached for the man's large hand and pulled it to the bulge in his trousers. "If you want me to rest, Aragorn, for the good of Middle-earth, give me some release."


	7. Following

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pippin/Faramir

Large hands pulled off half his uniform with a single tug, and Pippin went limp, let himself be shoved down, felt the cold stone of the corridor under his bare arse. He thrust up toward the heat.  
  
Faramir closed his eyes as he kissed, and Pippin was quite sure he was picturing Frodo splayed underneath him on the stone floor of a cave, Frodo's eyes wide with lust, Frodo's body opening to him. He remembered another Man's hands on his thighs and found he couldn't be angry.  
  
"Yes," he breathed aloud as Faramir hands pushed his legs apart, "I want this." _Only don't follow him too far,_ he added silently as spit-wet fingers breached him, _don't follow your father's orders,_ as the blunt hard cock followed them and Pippin gasped, _don't follow him into death,_ as semen flooded him and Faramir withdrew and Pippin moaned, "Don't leave me here alone."


	8. I Shall Certainly Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo/Merry

Upon reading the invitation Merry wished, not for the first time, that his cousins didn't share a birthday. He wrote back at once to say, "My dear Frodo, thank you, I cannot wait to see you again," but his mother caught the note and tore it up, including Merry's name on the more polite letter addressed from the Brandybucks to both Bagginses instead.

The disappearing trick took even more away from what should have been Frodo's celebration, Frodo's night. Only after a gross of nosey hobbits had said goodnight did Merry finally have his Frodo to himself.

"When I come of age," he said as they walked arm in arm up the Hill, "I'll tell the rest of them to shove it. I shall only invite you."

"Of course you shall." Frodo's voice was amused and tired, and his smile was sad in the moonlight. Merry felt foolish, because Frodo was a grown-up now and would care about relations and responsibilities, and when his time came Merry would have to do the same. But then Frodo stopped on the path and kissed Merry on the lips, and his smile was real when he said, "And I shall most certainly come."


	9. A Game of Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo/Men (oldschool interspecies trashfic)

The dice roll in the cups and spill out on the table, and though Frodo still doesn't understand the rules of the game, he knows from the looks on the men's faces that the newcomer has won.

He smiles tentatively at the man, unsure whether to be frightened or relieved. Some of the others around the table can get rough sometimes, but he's had them all before so he knows what to expect. He might be sore tomorrow but they won't break any bones, won't do anything that might keep them out of next week's game.

But with this one, who knows? He's barely spoken two words all night. No one even knows his real name! He could be some outlaw on the run, planning to take his pleasure and then slit Frodo's throat, and be off away south before daybreak.

Then again, Frodo's noticed how careful he is in his movements. He might be as gentle a lover as any Frodo's known. Certainly he's the most handsome. And who knows? Perhaps he's the kind of outlaw to take Frodo with him when he runs.

Butterbur says, "Congratulations, Strider," and Frodo dares to hope as he takes the stranger's hand.


End file.
